.A2 H53 







■'4 






-C if:' '"i|i 



#^M& jitV'V^':'^ 0:M'..M •,:.:, :,' ■ ■': 




K I' 



I 



.:.' : 






I ,lt 



^ 1 1 ,' » i. III ' wu 






1 jli I 






'^m. 






^^' 



























v' .**:^ 





















V c o - . 
























30 cents. BOOTH'S SERIES OF ACTING PLAYS. No. 3. 



SHAKESPEARE'S 



COMEDY OF 



THE MERCHANT OF 
VENICE 



AS PRODUCED BY 



EDWIN BOOTH 



Adapted from the Text of the Cambridge Editors, with Introduftory Remarks, £fc., - 



By henry L. HINTON. 



NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY HURD & HOUGHTON, 
459 BROOME STREET. 



ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY EDITION. 



WORKS OF J. FENIMOKE COOPER. 

Printed on tinted paper from clear and handsome type. Each volume contains 
two engravings on steel, from drawings by F. O. C. Darley, engraved in pure line 
and etching, and several sketches on wood. In thirty-two volumes, crown 8vo. 

Precaution. The Prairie. 

The Spy. Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. 

The Pioneers. The Water Witch. 

The Pilot. The Bravo. 

Lionel Lincoln. The Heidenmauer. 

Last of the Mohicans. The Headsman. 

Red Rover. TheMonikins 

Homeward Bound. Miles Wallingford. 

Home as Found. The Chainbearer. 

The Pathfinder. Satanstoe. 

Mercedes of Castile. The Red Skins. 

The Deerslayer. The Crater. 

The Two Admirals. Jack Tier. 

Wing and Wing. The Sea Lions. 

Wyandotte. Oak Openings. 

Afloat and Ashore. The Ways of the Hour. 

Each 'volume sold separately. 

Price in extra cloth, per volume $ 3 00 

" " cloth, elegant, in sets only 96 00 

" " half calf, gilt or antique, the set 144 00 



HOUSEHOLD EDITION. 

Printed on fine white paper, and handsomely bound. In thirty-two volumes, 
i6mo. 

Price in extra cloth, per volume $ I 25 

" " " " the set 40 00 

" " half calf, the set 8000 



The Leather-Stocking Tales, Jive volumes, comprising : — 

Deerslayer. Prairie. 

Pioneers. Pathfinder. 

Last of the Mohicans. 

Illustrated Edition, cloth, elegant $15 00 

half calf, gilt or antique 22 50 

People's Edition, extra cloth 8 75 

Household Edition, extra cloth 6 25 

HURD AND HOUGHTON, Publishers, 
4:59 Broome Street, New York. 



I 



SHAKESPEARE'S 



J'j^l.6 



COMEDY OF 



THE MERCHANT OF 
VENICE 



AS PRODUCED BY 



EDWIN BOOTH 



Adapted from the Text of the Cambridge Editors, with Introduftory Remarks, £fc., 



By henry L. HINTON. 



^J^^^!l^ 






NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY HURD & HOUGHTON, 
459 BROOME STREET. 

/ 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year i S 68, 
By henry L. HINTON, 
In the Clerk's Office of the DistriiS Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New York. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The Merchant of Venice was the first of those greater dramas of 
Shakespeare which were written in what has been termed the middle period 
of the poet's career. The materials from which Shakespeare prepared the 
plot, or, more properly speaking, the plots, of this play, seem to have been 
derived from various sources. But they receive all their interest from the 
heightening touch of the poetic artist. 

This play was one of those of our author's produftions which were 
severely handled by the ' improvers 'of the latter part of the seventeenth 
century. Indeed, it was not until Macklin restored the original text, in 
1741, that the presumptuous 'improvements' of this play were banished 
from the stage. Macklin's adaptation is the one familiar to the theatre of 
to-day. 

Some may ask : Why make an adaptation at all ? why not give the play 
as Shakespeare composed it ? Such should remember, that Shakespeare 
wrote in a primitive day of stage machinery. His auditors did not demand 
completeness in scenic effefts, properties, and costumes, as do those of cur 
time. A compliance with these modern demands, sometimes necessitates 
a transposition of scenes, and often a new division of afts and scenes. 

Of the performance of this play prior to the restoration of the mon- 
archy, there appear to be no detailed accounts. Richard Burbage, one of 
the company of which Shakespeare was a member, was the original repre- 
sentative of Shylock. He is spoken of as playing the part in a red beard 
and wig, a garb adoptedj^no doubt, to make him the more odious, and to 
suit the popular appetite of the time. 

In 1663, Charles II. granted patents for two theatres in London. The 
drama again rose and flourished. But what of Shylock? The Jew's 



iv INTRODUCTION. 

charafter had been denuded of that dignity and intensity which belongs to 
the original conception, and he had been forced to wear the garb and mien 
of a low jester and buffoon. The perverted taste of the last half of the 
seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth centuries seemed to be 
unequal to the true appreciation of this grand and gloomy creation of the 
poet. Yet we hear of such a man as Rowe saying : * I can not but think 
the charafter was tragically designed by the author.' 

Charles Macklin — of whose Shylock Pope said : ' This is the Jew that 
Shakespeare drew ' — was the first, after the restoration, to play Shylock as 
a serious part. Doran, in his Amials of the English Stage, thus notices 
this reform : — 

' There was a whisper that he was about to play the Jew as a serious 
charafter. His comrades laughed, and the manager was nervous. The 
rehearsals told them nothing, for there Macklin did little more than walk 
through the part, lest the manager should prohibit the playing of the piece, 
if the nature of the reform Macklin was about to introduce should make 
him fearful of consequences. In some such dress as that we now see worn 
by Shylock, Macklin, on the night of the 15th of February, 1741, walked 
down the stage, and, looking through the eyelet-hole in the curtain, saw 
the two ever-formidable front rows of the pit occupied by the most highly- 
dreaded critics of the period. The house was also densely crowded. He 
turned from his survey, calm and content, remarking : " Good 1 I shall be 
tried to-night, by a special jury !" 

•There was little applause, to Macklin's disappointment, on his entrance ; 
yet the people were pleased at the aspedl: of a Jew whom Rembrandt 
might have painted. The opening scene was spoken in familiar, but earnest 
accents. Not a hand yet gave token of approbation, but there occasionally 
reached Macklin's ears, from the two solemn rows of judge and jury in the 
pit, the sounds of a "Good!" and "Very good!" " Very well, indeed !" 
and he passed off, more gratified by this than by the slight general applause 
intended for encouragement. 

* As the play proceeded, so did his triumph grow. In the scene with 
Tubal, which Doggett, in Lansdowne's version, had made so comic, he 
shook the hearts, and not the sides, of the audience. There was deep 
emotion in that critical pit. The sympathies of the house went all for 
Shylock ; and at last, a storm of acclamation, a very hurricane of approval, 
roared pleasantly over Macklin. So far, all was well ; but the trial-scene 
had yet to come. 



INTRODUCTION. v 

* It came; and there the triumph culminated. The a£lor was not loud 
nor grotesque ; but Shylock was natural, calmly confident, and so terribly 
malignant, that when he whetted his knife, "to cut the forfeit from thaL 
bankrupt there," a shudder went round the house, and the profound silence 
following told Macklin that he held his audience by the heart-strings, and 
that his hearers must have already acknowledged the truth of his interpre- 
tation of Shakespeare's Jew. When the adl-drop fell, then the pent-up 
feelings found vent, and Old Drury shook again with the tumult of applause.' 

Since the time of Macklin, there have been many representatives of 
Shylock, of great merit ; but we have not space to enlarge upon the pecu- 
liarities and the great points of these various performances. Edmund 
Kean was the next to introduce original features into the performance of 
Shylock. With this part he first entered upon his career of fame ; indeed, we 
may almost say that his debut in this role rescued him from starvation. 
The circumstance is beautifully told by Doran : — 

*At the one morning rehearsal, he fluttered his fellow-aftors, and scared 
the manager, by his independence and originality. " Sir, this will never 
do !" cried Raymond, the ading manager. " It is quite an innovation ; 
it can not be permitted." — " Sir," said the poor, proud man, " I wish it to 
be so 1" and the players smiled, and Kean went home — that is, to his lodg- 
ings, in Cecil Street — on that snowy, foggy 26th of February, 1814, calm, 
hopeful, and hungry. "To-day," said he, " I must dine.'' 

' Having accomplished that rare feat, he went forth alone, and on foot. 
" I wish," he remarked, "I was going to be shot !" He had with him a 
few properties, which he was bound to procure for himself, tied up in a 
poor handkerchief, under his arm. His wife remained, with their child, at 
home. Kean tramped on beneath the falling snow, and over that which 
thickly encumbered the ground — solid here, there in slush ; — and, by and 
by, pale, quiet, but fearless, he dressed, in a room shared by two or three 
others, and went down to. the wing by which he was to enter. Hitherto, 
no one had spoken to him save Jack Bannister, who said a cheering word ; 
and Oxberry, who had tendered to him a glass, and wished him good for- 
tune. ** By Jove !" exclaimed a first-rater, looking at him, "Shylock in 
a black wig! Well!" 

* The house could hold, as it is called, £600 ; there was not more than 
a sixth of that sum in front. Winter without, his comrades within ; — all 
was against him. At length he went on, with Rae as Bassanio, in ill- 
%mor ; and groups of adors at the wings, to witness the first scene of a 



vi introduction: 

new candidate. All that Edmund Kean ever did was gracefully done ; 
and the bow which he made, in return to the usual welcoming applause, 
was eminently graceful. Dr. Drury, the head master of Harrow, who 
took great interest in him, looked fixedly at him as he came forward. Shy- 
lock leant over his crutched stick, with both hands ; and, looking askance 
at Bassanio, said : " Three thousand ducats ?" paused, bethought himself, 
and then added : " Well ?" "He is safe," said Dr. Drury. 

* The groups of adors soon after dispersed to the green-room. As they 
reached it, there reached there, too, an echo of the loud applause given to 
Shylock's reply to Bassanio's assurance that he may take the bond : *'I tuill 
be assured I may !" Later came the sounds of the increased approbation 
bestowed on the delivery of the passage ending with : " And for these 
courtesies, I'll lend you thus much moneys." The aft came to an end 
gloriously ; and the players in the green-room looked for the coming among 
them of the new Shylock. He proudly kept aloof; knew he was friend- 
less, but felt that he was, in himself, sufficient. 

' He wandered about the back of the stage, thinking, perhaps, of the 
mother and child at home ; and sure, now, of having at least made a step 
toward triumph. He wanted no congratulations ; and he walked cheer- 
fully down to the wing where the scene was about to take place between 
him and his daughter, Jessica, in his very calling to whom : " Why, Jes- 
sica ! I say," there was, as some of us may remember, from an after-night's 
experience, a charm, as of music. The whole scene was played with rare 
merit ; but the absolute triumph was not won till the scene (which was 
marvelous in his hands) in the third aft, between Shylock, Solanio, and 
Salarino, ending with the dialogue between the first and Tubal. Shylock's 
anguish at his daughter's flight ; his wrath at the two Christians, who 
make sport of his anguish; his hatred of all Christians, generally, and of 
Antonio in particular ; and then his alternations of rage, grief^ and ecstasy, 
as Tubal relates the losses incurred in the search for that naughty Jessica, 
her extravagances, and then the ill-luck that had fallen upon Antonio. In 
all this, there was such originality, such terrible force, such assurance of a 
new and mighty master, that the house burst forth into a very whirlwind 
of approbation. " What now ?" was the cry in the green-room. The 
answer was, that the presence and the power of the genius were acknowl- 
edged with an enthusiasm which shook the very roof.' 

Dunlap, in his History of the American Theatre, says : * On the 5th 
of September, 1752, at Williamsburg, the capital of Virginia, the first play 



introduction: vH 

performed in America, by a regular company of comedians, was represented 
to a delighted audience. The piece was The Merchant of Venice." Sub- 
sequent writers have shown this statement to be erroneous,* and that while 
The Merchant of Venice may have then for the first time been presented 
to an American audience, it was preceded by Richard III. and Othello, at 
New York. Richard III. was given, as probably the first effort of a com- 
pany of Thespians in that city, on the 5th of March, 1750. It will 
interest Knickerbockers to know that the theatre which witnessed this early 
performance was situated, as shown by J. N. Ireland, in his Records of the 
New York Stage, ' on the east side of Nassau Street (formerly Kip Street), 
between John Street and Maiden Lane, on lots now known by the num- 
bers 64 and (id (1866).' The performers on this occasion, it will please 
the good people of the City of Brotherly Love to learn, were driven from 
Philadelphia as a set of ' vagabonds.' 

The Merchant of Venice was, without doubt, introduced to the New 
York audience in the fall of 1753, by the same company which, as Dunlap 
states, opened in Williamsburg a year previous. From that day to this, 
the play has stood among the first in favor in New York and other princi- 
pal cities of the country. 

Of all the aftors who have essayed the role of Shylock on our American 
stage, no one seems to have left so lasting an impression as Junius Brutus 
Booth. The following critique will give the reader, who may not have 
had the good fortune to see and hear for himself, a conception of the 
'elder Booth's' peculiar rendition of this character: — 

* Booth's interpretation of the part of Shylock differed greatly from that 
which was popular on the stage of his day. The superficial features of the 
Jew's character are patent to every one — his greed, his miserliness, his im- 
placable revengefulness ; — but, in the refined handling of this great artist, 
these traits were made the mere outworks behind which was seated a grand 
reserved force, which the spectator found it difficult to analyze, but the 
presence of which was none the less powerfully felt. The Jew stood forth 

* As early as 1733 there existed a 'play house' in New York, but the legitimate 
drama was performed, if at all, in a very crude manner, the play-house being used princi- 
pally for puppet-sR'ows and entertainments of like charafter. It is more than probable 
that the first company of English aftors which crossed the Atlantic first appeared in 1746, 
in Jamaica, "West Indies. The second company, as mentioned by Dunlap, crossed in 
1752, and appeared in Williamsburg, Virginia. These two companies afterward united, 
forming what was long known as the American Company. 



viii INTRODUCTION, 

as the representative of his race ; he wrapped up in himself the dignity 
of the patriarchs of his people. But this does not express all ; in the per- 
son of Shylock, as given by Booth, the old faith, recognizing justice alone, 
not mercy — "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" — was brought into 
contrast with that which superseded it, as represented in the person of An- 
tonio and beautifully expounded by Portia. Mercy " is twice blessed ; it 
blesses him that gives, and him that takes," saith Portia. " I crave the 
law," saith the Jew. 

' No man was more catholic in his sentiments than Booth. He read the 
Koran, and often attended the synagogues. He sympathized with the 
Jews as an oppressed and reviled race, and knew how to assume the He- 
braic stand-point. The Jewish race stood to him for an idea — the inex- 
orableness of law; and the conception of a people selected as the guardian 
and minister of this law, — as the arm of fate, — affected his imagination pro- 
foundly. Why shall not Shylock exact his usances ? Why shall he not 
demand the penalty and forfeit of his bond ? Are they not all Christian 
dogs — gentiles, accursed by the law ? In the person of Shylock, Booth 
embodied all this gloomy grandeur of position, this merciless absoluteness 
of will. Yet Shylock's more special personality — if we may so express it — 
his hatred of Antonio, not simply " for he is a Christian," but because he 
has hindered him in his usurious practices, was not merged and lost in his 
representative character. Booth kept the two distinct, skillfully using the 
former in order to throw out in darker background the shadowy presence 
of the latter. Finely in keeping with this rendering of the part, is the 
exit of Shylock from the machinery of the piece on the termination of the 
fourth aft. The lighter and more graceful work of the play goes on; 
but Shylock withdraws, and with him this grand, gloomy, cruel past, 
which he represents, while the light-hearted, forgiving, and forgiven 
children of the day bring all their wishes to a happy consummation.' 

COSTUME. 

Shakespeare's own time has been usually set as the period of the 
aftion of this play, but the costume in Venice at that epoch was, in many 
instances, so eccentric, that, were it strictly adhered to in representation, 
* it is to be feared,' as Grant White remarks, ' that the splendor and faith- 
fulness of the scene would be forgotten in its absurdity, and that the 
audience would explode in fits of uncontrollable laughter, as the various 



INTRODUCTION. ix 

personages came upon the stage.' Fancy * Antonio with a bonnet like an 
inverted porringer shadowing his melancholy countenance,' and his trunk- 
hose puiFed out with bombast to an enormous sise. Fancy the gifted Portia 
mounted on Cioppini, ox, as they have been called, ' wooden scaffolds ' — 
' things made of wood, and covered with leather of sundry colors,' which 
were sometimes 'half a yard high,' or, as another account says, 'as high as 
a man's leg.' Fancy Portia, thus gigantically proportioned, led in by 'two 
maids, to keep her from falling.' 

Mr. Grant White, recognizing these absurdities, says : — ' Any Italian 
costume, rich, beautiful, and sufficiently antique to. remove the aftion out 
of the range of present probabilities, will meet the dramatic requirements 
o^ this play ; but the orange-tawny bonnet, that mark of an outcast race, 
ought not to be missed from the brow of Shylock. This, however, is 
allowing rather more freedom than will meet the approval of the general 
public who, when a play is submitted to them on the stage, demand a con- 
sistent historical picture.' 

The male attire of this period, or such of it, at least, as distinguished 
the higher class, may be considered of two kinds : that one which was 
used on festive occasions, or in gayer moods, by all ages, and which was 
worn at all times, by young gallants who had not reached the age of 
* eighteen or twenty,' and that one which pertained to sedater moods, and 
occasions of state. Knight, quoting Vecellio, has given an interesting 
description of these habits. 'Young lovers,' he tells us, 'wear, generally, a 
doublet and breeches of satin, tabby, or other silk, cut or slashed in the 
form of crosses or stars, through which slashes is seen the lining of colored 
taffeta ; gold buttons, a lace ruff, a bonnet of rich velvet, or silk, with an 
ornamental band, a silk cloak, and silk stockings, Spanish morocco shoes, a 
flower in one hand, and their gloves and handkerchief in the other. This 
habit was worn by many of the nobility, as well of Venice as of other 
Italian cities.' Illustrations in Ferrario represent the high bonnet as in 
some instances substituted by the more reasonable cap, but in no instance 
are feathers worn, and the breeches are always puffed out to an enormous 
size. Full but not very long beards were general. 

The other habit, which, as we have said, belonged to maturer years and 

dignified occasions, consisted of a gown, which was sometimes worn over 

the gay attire above described. This robe received special modifications, 

adapting it to the special occasions and particular ofiices j it may be termed 

the common exterior dress of the Venetians. 
1* 



X INTRODUCTION. 

The robe or gown of the Doge was of silk of a purple dye, or sometimes 
of cloth of gold ; it came down to the feet, and was encircled about his 
waist with a richly embroidered belt. Over this was thrown a mantle of 
cloth of silver, so long as to trail to some extent upon the ground. These 
garments were * adorned with many curious works, made in colors with 
needlework.' Finally, a cape of ermine encompassed his shoulders and 
reached to the elbows. His head was covered with a thin coif, over which 
he wore a mitre, corresponding in color with the robe and mantle, and 
which turned up behind, in the form of a horn. His feet were encased in 
slippers, or, according to some accounts, sandals. 

The chiefs of the Council of Ten, three in number, wore red gowns, with 
red stockings and slippers ; the other seven were attired the same, only the 
color was black. These gowns hung loose, and extended nearly to the 
ground. A flap, three or four inches wide, of the same color as the gowns, 
or sometimes black, was worn on the red gowns, and thrown over the left 
shoulder. The sleeves were large and flowing, reaching almost to the ground. 
'AH these gowned men,' says Croyat, * do wear marvelous little black caps of 
felt, without any brims at all, and very diminutive falling bands, no ruffs at 
all, which are so shallow, that I have seen many of them not above a little 
inch deep.' 

For the dress of the Doctor of Laws, Knight gives the following from 
Vecellio : — * The upper robe was of black damask cloth, velvet, or silk, 
according to the weather. The under one of black silk, with a silk sash, 
the ends of which hang down to the middle of the leg; the stockings of 
black cloth or velvet, the cap of rich velvet or silk.' The sleeves of the 
gown of the Doctor of Law, though very full, were tight at the wrist ; 
and a flap, as in the case of the Council, thrown over the left shoulder. 
The lawyer's clerk was also dressed in black, the gown extending about to 
the ankles. 

Gondoliers in Ferrario are represented in tight-fitting jackets and 
breeches. Pages and servants, in jackets and short trunks ; artisans, in 
short gowns. 

But how are Shylock and the ' pretty Jessica ' to be attired ? 

Touching the dress of Jewish women, C^sar Vecellio, in his Habiti 
Anticki et Moderni, 1598, says that they wore yellow veils, but in other 
respefts differed not from Christian women of the same rank. They were 
distinguished, however, by being * highly painted.' 

The Jewish men also differed in nothing, in respect of dress, fnjm 



INTRODUCTION. xi 

Venetians of the same walk, except that they were compelled, by order of 
the government, to wear a yellow bonnet. The story is, that the color 
was changed from red to yellow because a Jew was accidentally taken for 
a cardinal. Saint Didier, it is true, in his *Histoire de Venise,' says that 
the color of the bonnet was * scarlet ;' but the best authority, Vecellio, 
reports that it was yellow. * It is not impossible,' as Knight remarks, * that 
the "orange-tawny bonnet" might have been worn of so deep a color, by 
some of the Hebrew population, as to have been described as red by a 
careless observer, or that some Venetian Jews, in fact, did venture to v/ear 
red caps or bonnets in defiance of the statutes, and thereby misled the 
traveler or the historian.' Shylock speaks of his 'Jewish gaberdine.' In 
old English this word was applied to a loose, coarse, and, perhaps, motley 
garment, worn by a prescribed class, or the poorer sort ; and in Scottish 
dialedl it still retains this usage. Shakespeare, therefore, caring only for the 
pifturesque appointments of his play, seems to have meant, by the * Jewish 
gaberdine,' an article of dress distinftive of the Hebrew class ; nor in 
this case can we introduce historical accuracy of costume without marring 
the effeft of the piece. 

It is seen, then, in some instances to be advantageous, and in others to 
be striclly necessary, to modify the costume in putting this great work of 
our author upon the stage. We have said that Shakespeare's own day is 
the time usually set for the aftion of this drama, but the stories upon 
which it is founded being much older, we are at liberty to assign 
it an earlier period. The dress worn by the youth of the latter part of 
the fourteenth and during the fifteenth centuries contains many elegant fea- 
tures, and may be adopted in part, or in all its details, with good efieft. 

Ferrario thus describes the toilet of young noblemen of this period : 
'They brought a few curls over the forehead, and allowed the rest of the 
hair to fall in waves upon the shoulders; they donned a coat, which reached 
to the middle of the leg, and was embroidered with various flowers in silk 
and gold, and was fastened in front with gold buttons and gathered about 
the waist with a silk belt, from which hung a sword on the left side ; this 
coat was adorned with lace, and had a hood, which hung down below the 
belt ; the sleeves enveloped the arm as far as the elbow, and then hung 
open in more or less long pendants. They wore hose of red clotli, and 
low, laced shoes.' In other instances, this upper garment, according to the 
same author, was much shorter, sometimes not covering the hips ; in this 
case it has tight sleeves reaching to the wrist. The hoods * were very 



xii INTRODUCTION. 

small, and had " beaks " falling back almost to the ground.' *The men 
were also adorned with necklaces or bands of silver, studded with pearls or 
red coral, and many young men went bearded.' Another variety of this 
dress, peculiar perhaps to a somewhat more youthful age, consists of a 
striped hose extending up the whole leg, and a doublet or jacket, * open at 
the breast and tightened about the loins with a belt, after the manner of 
the ladies of our time.' Ferrario pronounces this costume 'simple and 
beautiful.' Wahlen, in describing the dress of a young Venetian of this 
period, adds to details similar to those above given, that of a cloak, thrown 
over and completely enveloping the coat or doublet, and reaching as low as 
the breech. This cloak is lined with material of a different color, and is 
edged with gold. It does not 'open on the side, but is looped up to the 
right shoulder.' With this was worn, for * coiffeur,' a linen bonnet of some 
rich color, and of moderate height. 

At the various revivals of The Merchant of Venice, it has been 
customary to adopt, in the male attire, what is called the * Venetian ' or 
'Elizabethan Shape,' — a dress similar to that described in the early 
part of this article, as worn by 'young lovers.' But the puffing out 
of the breeches with bombast, to an enormous extent, has never, and per- 
haps with good reason, been introduced. The dress to which we have 
given the preference, the distinguishing mark of which is what is known on 
the stage as * the hauberk,' may be followed with more historical fidelity, 
and is undoubtedly the more piduresque of the two. 

We have seen that, in our author's time, the female dress was marked 
with absurdities of a nature that would prevent its being faithfully repro- 
duced on the stage. Therefore, if we would array our Portia, Nerrissa, 
and Jessica, in a becoming costume, we must look for materials to some 
earlier age. Caesar Vecellio (vol. i, plate 48) describes a dress peculiar to 
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which we think would be well 
suited to Portia, and the style could be easily modified in adaptation to the 
other charafters of the drama. * The hair of the women was plaited and 
gathered up under a small crown, a la diicale. They wore collars orna 
mented with corals and silver balls, and very often a band of real or imi 
tation gold. The robe, though cut to fit close to the waist, was not stiffened 
with stays ; the upper part, which covered the breast, was loaded with pretty 
golden ornaments. The sleeves reached but to the elbow, and the 
rest of the arm to the wrist had no other covering than the chemise ; a 
richly embroidered trimming adorned the bottom of this robe, which 



INTRODUCTION. xiii 

was furnished with a long train.' A string of corals and silver balls, to 
match the ornaments of the collar, hung loosely from the waist. In the figure 
given in Vexellio in illustration of this costume, the left hand gathers up a 
portion of this long outer robe in such a manner as to display the under- 
garment, which is of brocade. A broad cufF confines the loose under- 
sleeves. The shoes are pointed. Shakespeare has designated the color of 
Portia's hair : — ■ 

' Her sunay locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece,' 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Of this adaptation oF The Merchant of Venice as cast for its first representation at 
Booth's Theatre, New York, , 

Duke of Venice 

Prince of Morocco, suitor to Portia...; 

Antonio, a merchant of Venice . 

Bassanio, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia 

Salanio, ^ r 

Salarino, /.. , , . . „ . 

_ \- rriends to Antonio and Bassanio. A 

Gratiano, j . 

Salerio, J L 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica 

Shylock, a rich Jew 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend 

Launcelot Gobbo, the clown, servant to Shylock 

Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot . 

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio 

Balthasar, 

Stephano, J 

Clerk of the court of justice .*. 



' \ servants to Portia. < 



Portia, a rich heiress 

NzRissA, her waiting-maid 

Jessica, daughter to Shylock 

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Musicians, 
Servants to Portia, and other Attendants. 

Scene : Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia 
on the Continent. 



Note. — ^The asterisks that occasionally appear in the text, refer to the glossary. 



THE 



MERCHANT OF VENICE 



ACT I. 



Scene I. Venice, A street. 

Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad : 
It wearies me; you say it wearies you ; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me. 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
There, where your argosies'^ with portly sail, 
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,' 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers. 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence. 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

' The 'signiors and rich burghers on the flood,' are tlie Venetians, who may well ba 
said to live on the sea. — Douce. 



i6 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act i. 

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
The better part of my afFeftions would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; ' 
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
And every object that might make me fear 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great at sea might do. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run. 
But I should think of shallows and of flats. 
And see my wealthy Andrew^ dock'd in sand 
Vailing * her high-top lower than her ribs 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church 
And see the holy edifice of stone, 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side. 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; 
And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the thought 
To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought. 
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad ? 
But tell not me > I know, Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 

Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 

^ By holding up the grass, or any other light body that will bend by a gentle blast* 
the direftion of the wind is found. 

^ This name was probably a common one for ships, in compliment to Andrea Doria, 
the great Genoese Admiral. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. r; 

Salar. Why, then you are in love. 

Ant. Fie, fie ! 

Salar. Not in love neither ? Then let us say you are sad, 
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry. 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, 
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper ; 
And other of such vinegar aspe6l. 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Sala7i. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
Gratiano,and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : 
We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you, 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? say, when .? 
You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 

\Exeu7it Salarino and Sala'nto^ 

Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time, 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. 

Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio ; 
You have too much respe(5l upon the world : 
They lose it that do buy it with much care : 
Believe me, you are marvellously changed. 



1 8 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act i. 

Jnt. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks, — 
There are a sort of men, whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond ; 
And do a wilful stillness entertain. 
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
As who should say, ' I am Sir Oracle, 
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!' 

my Antonio, 1 do know of these, 
That therefore only are reputed wise 

For saying nothing ; when, I am very sure. 

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 

I'll tell thee more of this another time : 

But fish not, with this melancholy bait. 

For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. 

Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile : 

I'll end my exhortation after dinner.* 

Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time : 

1 must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

' The humor of this consists in its being an allusion to the pra£lice of the Puritan 
preachers of those times ; who, being generally very long and tedious, were often forced 
to put cff that part of their sermon called the cxlnrtation till after dinner. — WASEUttTON. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 19 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Jnt. Farewell : I '11 grow a talker for this gear.* 

Gra. Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only commendable 
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 

[^Exeunt Gratiam and Loren-zo. 

Ant. Is that any thing now ? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than 
any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat 
hid in two bushels of chafF: you shall seek all day ere you find 
them : and when you have them, they are not worth the search. 

Ant. Well, tell me now, what lady is the same 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage. 
That you to-day promised to tell me of? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate, 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, 
Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money and in love ; 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburden all my plots and purposes 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Within the eye of honour, be assured. 
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way with more advised watch. 



20 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act 

To find the other forth ; and by adventuring both, 

I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 

Because what follows is pure innocence. 

I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 

That which I owe is lost : but if you please 

To shoot another arrow that self way 

Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 

As I will watch the aim, or to find both. 

Or bring your latter hazard back again. 

And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Jnt. You know me well ; and herein spend but time 
To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong 
In making question of my uttermost. 
Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
Then do but say to me what I should do. 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest * unto it : therefore, speak. 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left ; 
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word. 
Of wondrous virtues : sometimes* from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages r 
Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia : 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strond, 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
That I should questionless be fortunate ! 

Jnt. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea ; 



SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, 21 

Neither have I money, nor commodity 

To raise a present sum : therefore go forth ; 

Try what my credit can in Venice do : 

That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 

To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 

Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 

Where money is ; and I no question make, 

To have it of my trust, or for my sake. \^Exeunt, 

• 
Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

. Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this 
great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the 
same abundance as your good fortunes are : and yet, for aught I 
see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in 
the mean : superfluity comes sooner by white hairs j^ but compe- 
tency lives longer. ^ 

Por, Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' 
palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instrucSlions : 
I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one 
of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may de- 
vise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree : 
such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good 
counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to 
choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose'! I may neither 
choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is the 

' That is, superfluity sooner acquires white hairs; becomes old. We still say, How 
did he come by it. — Malone. • 



2z THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act i. 

will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. 
Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse 
none ? . , 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their 
death, have good inspirations : therefore, the lottery, that he hath 
devised in these three chests of gold, silver, and lead, — -whereof 
who chooses his meaning chooses you, — will, no doubt, never be 
chosen by any rightly, but one who shall rightly love. But what 
warmth is there in your afFeition towards any of these princely 
suitors that are already come ? 

Por. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou namest them, I 
will describe them ; and, according to my description, level at my 
afFe6tion. 

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed,^ for he doth nothing but talk of' 
his horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good 
parts, that he can shoe him himself. 

Ner. Then there is the County Palatine. 

Por. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should say, ' if you 
will not have me, choose :' he hears merry tales, and smiles not : 
I fear he will prove the w«eping philosopher" when he grows old, 
being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather 
be married to a death's-head with a bon-e in his mouth than to 
either of these. Heaven defend me from these two ! 

Ner. How say you by the French lord. Monsieur Le Bon ? 

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In 
truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker : but, he ! — why, he hath 
a horse better than the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frown- 
ing than the Count Palatine : he is every man in no man 5 if a 
throstle sing, he falls straight a capering : he will fence with his 
own shadow : if I should marry him, I should marry twenty 

' This term is applied to the Prince in question, on account of the high repute of the 
Neapolitan horsemanship. 

^ Heraditus, a philosopher of Athens, so called ; who, whenever he went abroad, wept 
at the miseries of the world.- — Gkey. 



SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 23 

husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him ; for if 
he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. 

Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron 
of England ? 

Por. You know I say nothing to him ; for he understands not 
me, nor I him : he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian ; and 
you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor penny- 
worth in the Enghsh. He is a proper^ man's pi6lure ; but, 
alas, who can converse with a dumbshow ? How oddly he is 
suited ! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in 
France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where. 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour .? 

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; for he bor- 
rowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would 
pay him again when he was able : I think the Frenchman became 
his surety, and sealed under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's 

nephew ? 

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober ; and most 
vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk : when he is best, he is 
little worse than a man j and when he is worst, he is little better 
than a beast : an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make 
shift to go without him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, 
you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should 
refuse to accept him. 

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep 
glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket ; for, if the devil be 
within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I 
will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords : 
they have acquainted me with their determinations; which is, in- 
deed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more 
suit, unless you may be won by some other sort* than your 
father's imposition,'"" depending on the caskets. 



24 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act i. 

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as 
Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will. I 
am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not 
one among them but I dote on his very absence ; and I wish them 
a fair departure. 

Ner, Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Ve- 
netian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the 
Marquis of Montferrat ? 

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think he was so called. 

Ner. True, madam : he, of all the men that ever my foolish 
eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. 

Por. I remember him well ; and I remember him worthy of 
thy praise. 

E^iter Balthasar. 

How now ! what news ? 

Balth. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their 
leave : and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of 
Morocco; who brings word, the prince his master will be here to- 
night. 

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart as I 
can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach : 
if he have the condition* of a saint and the complexion of a devil, 
I had rather he should shrive* me than wive me. 
Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 

Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks at 
the door. \^Exeunt. 

Scene III. Venice. A public place. 

Enter Bassanio and Shylock.. 
Shy. Three thousand ducats ; well. 
Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 
Shy. For three months ; well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 
. Shy. Antonio shall become bound ; well. 



-SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 25 

Bass. May you stead me ? will you pleasure me ? shall I know 
your answer ? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio 
bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? 

Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no : my meaning, in saying he is a good 
man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient. Yet 
his means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to Trip- 
olis, another to the Indies ; I understand, moreover, upon the 
Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other 
ventures he hath squandered* abroad. But ships are but boards, 
sailors but men : there be land-rats and water-rats, land-thieves 
and water-thieves, I xnezn pirates ; and then there is the peril of 
waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufE- 
cient. Three thousand ducats ; I think I may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be a,ssured I may ; and, that I may be assured, I 
will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio .? 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation which your 
prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I will buy with 
you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so follow- 
ing ; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with 
you. What news on the Rialto ?^ Who is he comes here ? 

Bass. This is Signior Antonio. \_Exit, 

Shy. How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian ; 
But more for that in low simplicity 
He lends out money gratis and brings down 
The rate of usance* here with us in Venice. 

' The Rialto, one of the islands upon which Venice is built, gave its name first to 
the Exchange which was built upon it, and then to the bridge by which it was reached. 
It may mean here either of the former j but probably the second of them. — White. 
2 



26 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act i. 

If I can catch him once upon the hip, 

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 

He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 

Even there where merchants most do congregate, 

On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift. 

Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 

If I forgive him ! 

Re-enter Bassanio with Antonio. 

Bass. \After a short pause~\ Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store ; 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that ? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. 
Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months 
Do you desire ? [fTo Ant.'\ Rest you fair, good signior; 
Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow. 
By taking nor by giving of excess. 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I '11 break a custom. Is he yet possess'd"^" 
How much ye would ? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot ; three months, you told me so. 
Well then, your bond; and let me see ; but hear you ; 
Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep, — 
This Jacob from our holy Abram was. 
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, 
The third possessor ; ay, he was the third, — 

Ant. And what of him ? did he take interest? 



SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 27 

Shy. No, not take interest ; not, as you would say, 
Dire£lly interest; mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromised 
That all the eanllngs * which were streak'd and pied 
Should fall as Jacob's hire ; 
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands. 
And, in the doing of the deed of kind,* 
He stuck them up before the fulsome''^' ewes, 
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
Fall * parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest : 
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for j 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. 
Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams ? 

Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : 
But note me, signior. 

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul, producing holy witness, 

Is like a villain with a smiling cheek ; ' 

A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 

Shy. Three thousand ducats ; 'tis a good round sum. 
Three months from twelve ; then, let me see ; the rate — 

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you ? 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated* me 
About my moneys and my usances :* 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat, dog. 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 



28 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act i. 



And all for use of that which is mine own. "" 

Well then, it row appears you need my help : 

Go to, then ; } ua come to me, and you say 

' Shylock, we would have moneys :' you say so ; 

You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 

And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 

Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. 

What should I say to you ? Should I not say 

' Hath a dog money ? is it possible 

A cur ca-n lend three thousand ducats'? or 

Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key, 

With bated breath and whispering humbleness. 

Say this, — 

' Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 

You spurn'd me such a day ; another time 

You call'd me dog ; and for these courtesies 

I '11 lend you thus much moneys ' ? 

Jnt. I am as like to call thee so again. 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends ; for when did friendship take 
A breed * for barren metal of his friend ? 
But lend it rather to thine enemy j 
Who if he break, thou mayst with better face 
Exa£t the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me: 
This is kind I offer. 

Bass. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond j and, in a merry sport, 



V 



SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 29 

If you repay me not on on such a day, 
In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal 'pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off" and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

A?it. Content, i' faith : I'll seal to such a bond, 
And say there is much kindness in the Jev/. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
I '11 rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear rot, man ; I will not forfeit it : 
Within these two months, that's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expert return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shy. O father'Abram, what these Christians are, 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exa6lion of the forfeiture ? 
A pound of man's flesh taken from a man 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say. 
To buy his favour I extend this friendship : 
If he will take it, so ; if. not, adieu ; 
And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
Give him direction for this merry bond ; 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard- 
Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
1 will be with you. \_Going. 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

' A- guard that is the cause of fear, because not to be trusted. ' Fearful' wa3 anciently 
often uied for exciting fear, and is not yet auite obsolete. — Verplanck. 



30 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

The Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows kind. 

Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 

Jnt. Come on : in this there can be no dismay ; 
My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. Venice. Before Shylock's house. 

Enter Launcelot. 
Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from 
this Jew my master. The iiend is at mine elbow, and tempts 
me, saying to me, ' Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,' 
or 'good Gobbo,' or 'good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take 
the start, run away.' My conscience says, ' No ; take heed, 
honest Launcelot ; take heed, honest Gobbo,' or, as aforesaid, 
' honest Launcelot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running with thy 
heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack : ' Via !' 
says the fiend ; 'away!' says the fiend ; 'for the heavens, rouse 
up a brave mind,' says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my con- 
science, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to 
me, ' My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son,' — 
or rather an honest woman's son ; — for, indeed, my father did 
something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of tiste ; — 
well, my conscience says, 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' 
says the fiend. ' Budge not,' says my conscience. ' Conscience,' 
say I, ' you counsel well.' ' Fiend,' say I, ' you counsel well :' 
to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my 
master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil ; and, to run 
away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving 
your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the 
very devil incarnal ; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but 
a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the 
Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel : I will run, 
fiend ; my heels are at your command; I v/ill run. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 31 

Enter Old Gobbo/ with a basket. 

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way 
to master Jew's ? 

Laun. \_Aside'\ O heavens, this is my true-begotten father ' 
who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,^ knows me 
not : I will try confusions with him. 

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way 
to master Jew's ? 

L^in. Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, at 
the next turning of all, on your left ; marry, at the very next 
turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indire6lly to the Jew's 
house. 

Gob. 'Twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether 
one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no ? 

Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot ? \_Jside~\ Mark 
me now ; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Mas- 
ter Launcelot ? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his father, though 
I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, 
well to live. 

Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of young 
Master Launcelot. 

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 

Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk 
you of young Master Launcelot. 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership.^ 

1 It may be inferred from the name of Gobbo, that Shakespeare designed the charadler 
to be represented with a hump-back. — Steevens. 

^ ' Gravel-blind,' a coinage of Launcelot's, is the exaggeration of sand-blind. 

" Launcelot whimsically takes his father to task for disrespedl to himself — Launcelot, 
and says, in reply to old Gobbo's statement of their condition in life, 'Well, let his 
father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.' The father, still unable 
to dub his son 'Master,' replies deprecatingly, 'Your worship's friend, and Launcelot,' 
/. e., 'Aye, we speak of your worship's friend, who is Launcelot.' To this, Launcelot, 
who evidently, like the Grave-digger in Hamlet, understands, after a fashion, tlie Latin 



32 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

Laim. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launce- 
lot, father ; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and 
Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branch- 
es of learning, is indeed deceased ; or, as you woul4 say in 
plain terms, gone to heaven. 

Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of my 
age, my very prop. 

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a 
prop ? Do you know me, father ? 

Goh. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman^ but, 
I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead ? 

Laun. Do you not know me, father ?- 

Gob.- Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know you not. 

Laim. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of 
the knowing me : it is a wise father that knows his own child. 
Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son : give me your 
blessing : truth will come to light ; murder cannot be hid long ; 
a man's son may ; but, at the length, truth will out. 

Gob. Pray you^ ;ir, stand up : I am sure you are not Launce- 
lot, m.y boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give 
me your blessing : I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son 
ichat is, your child that shall be. 

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 

Laun. I know not v/hat I shall think of that: but I am Laun- 
celot, the Jew's man ; and I am sure Margery your wife is my 
mother. 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I 'II be sv/orn, if thou be 
Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord wor- 
shipped might he be ! what a beard hast thou got ! thou hast got 

word he uses, rejoins, * But I pray ycu, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of 
young Master Launcelot,' i. e., 'And therefore, because I am "your worship" and he 
is my friend, you should speak of liim as Master Launcelot.' — White. 

' Twice Launcelot calls Gobbo father, and yet the old man does not even suspedt with 
whom he is talking; the reason of which is the ancient custom, almost universal among 
the peasantry, of, calling all old people father or mother.. — White. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 33 

more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse* has on his 
tail. 

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows back- 
ward : I am sure he had more hair of his tail than 1 have of my 
face when I last saw him. 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou and thy 
master agree ? I have brought him a present. How 'gree you 
now ? 

Laun. Well, well : but, for mine own part, as I have set up 
my rest to run away, so I will not rest till 1 have run some ground. 
My master's a very Jew : give him a present ! give him a halter : 
I am famished in his service ; you may tell every finger I have 
with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come : give me your 
present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liv- 
eries : if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any 
ground.^ O rare fortune ! here comes the man: to him, father; 
for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. 

E?iter Bassanio, zuith Leonardo aitd other followers. 

Bass. You may do so ; but let it be so hasted, that supper be 
ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters deliv- 
ered ; put the liveries to making ; and desire Gratiano to come 
anon to my lodging. \_Exit a Servant. 

Laun. To him, father. 

Goh. God bless your worship ! 

Bass. Gramercy !* wouldst thou aught with me ? 

Gob. Here 's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man ; that would, 
sir, — as my father shall specify, — 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would sav, to serve, — 

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and 
have a desire, — as my father shall specify, — 

^ To understand the appropriateness of these words, we must remember that in Venice 
it was not easy to find ground enough to ran upon. 
2* 



34 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

Gob. His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, are 
scarce cater-cousins, — 

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is that the Jevi^, having done 
me v^^rong, doth cause me, — as my father, being, I hope, an old 
man, shall frutify unto you, — 

Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon 
your worship, and my suit is, — 

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent' to myself, as your 
worship shall know by this honest old man ; and, though I say it, 
though old man, yet poor man, my father. 

Bass. One speak for both. What would you ? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Gob. That is the very defeat of the matter, sir. 

Bass. I know thee well ; thou hast obtain'd thy suit : 
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day. 
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master 
Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he 
hath enough." 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son. 
Take leave of thy old master and inquire 
My lodging out. Give him a livery 
More guarded* than his fellows' : see it done. 

Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no ; I have ne'er a 
tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer 
table^ which doth offer to swear upon a book,^ I shall have good 

' Launcelot means to say pertinent. 

^ It is uncertain what proverb is here alluded to. White says, ' from the text it would 
seem to have been, " He who hath God's grace hath enough." ' — Editor. 

^ ' Table,' in the language of fortune-tellers, is the palm of the hand. 

* The constru£lion is, ' Well, if any man in Italy which doth offer to swear upon a 
book have a fairer table,' — the expression being of that pleonastic form (for 'any man ') 
which is common among the uncultivated, as 'any man that breathes,' 'any man that 
walks on shoe leather,' &c., &c. After having thus admired the fairness of his ' table ' 
Launcelot breaks off to predict his good fortune. — White. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 35 

fortune. Go to, here 's a simple line of life : here 's a small trifle 
of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! a'leven widows and 
nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man : and then to 
'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the 
edge of a feather-bed j^ here are simple scapes. Well, if For- 
tune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.* Father, 
come J I '11 take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 

\_Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gohbo, 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : 
These things being bought and orderly bestow'd. 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
My best-esteem'd acquaintance : hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 

[^Exeunt all but Leonardo. 
Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master t 

Leon. -Yonder, sir, he walks. \^Exit. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, — 

Re-enter Bassanio. 

Bass. Gratiano ! 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gra. You must not deny me : I must go with you to. Belmont. 

Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano : 
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; 
Parts that become thee happily enough. 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
But where thou art not known, why, there they show 
Something too liberal.* Pray thee, take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild behaviour, 
I be misconstrued in the place I go to. 
And lose my hopes. 

' A cant phrase to signify the danger of marrying. 



36 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ri. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 
TaLk with respeil, and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus with my hat,' and sigh, and say ' amen / 
Use all the observance of civility, 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent •' 
To please his grandam, never trust me more. 

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night : you shall not gauge me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that v/ere pity : 

I would entreat you rather to put on 
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment. But fare you well : 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest : 
But we will visit you at supper-time. \^Exeunt. 

Enter Jessica ajtd Launcelot. 

yes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
Our house is hell; and thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee : 
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : - 
Give him this, letter ; do it secretly ; 
And so farewell : I v/ould not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. 

Laiin. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan, 
most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave, and get* 
thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu : these foolish drops do 
something drown my manly spirit : adieu. 

' It was foi-.Tisrly the custom to wear th; hit at msals. 



SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 37 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. _ \_Exit Laujicelot. 

Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
To be ashamed to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, 
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. \Exit. 

Scene II. The same. A street. 

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 
Disgui&e us at my lodging, and return 
All in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 

Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.- 

Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd. 
And better in my mind not undertook. 

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours 
To furnish us. 

Eriter Launcelot, with a letter. 

-P'riend Launcelot, what 's the news ? 

Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem 
to signify. 

Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 
And whiter than the paper it writ on 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. Love-nevi7s, in faith. 

Lauii. By 3'our leave, sir. 

Lor. Whither goest thou ? 

Lau'i. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to- 
night with my new master the Christian. 

Lor. Hold here, take this : tell gentle Jessica 
I will not fail her; speak it privately. \^Exit Launcelot. 



38 THE merchant: OF VENICE. [act ii. 

Go, gentlemen, 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 

I am provided of a torch-bearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, I '11 be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'Tis good we do so. \JLxeunt Salarino and Salanio. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed 
How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with ; 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, 
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 
Unless she do it under this excuse. 
That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
Come, go with me ; peruse this as thou goest : 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [^Exewit. 



Scene III. The same. Before Sbylock's house. 

Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandise. 
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing 
without bidding. 



SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 39 

Enter Jessica. 

yes. Call you ? what is your will ? 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : 
There are my keys. But wherefore should I go ? 
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl. 
Look to my house. I am right loath to go : 
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest. 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go : my young master doth expe6i: 
your reproach. 

Shy. So do I his. 

Laun. And they have conspired together, I will not say you 
shall see a masque ; but if you do, then it was not for nothing 
that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday^ last at six o'clock 
i' the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four 
year, in the afternoon. 

Shy. What, are there masques ? Hear you me, Jessica : 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum. 
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd life,^ 
Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
Nor thrust your head into the public street 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces ; 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements : 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. By Jacob's stafF, I swear 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 

' Bleeding at the nose was formerly thought to be ominous. Stow, the Chronicler, 
says Black Monday got its name from the following occurrence : On April 14th, 1360 
(Easter Monday), Edward III., ' with his host, lay before the city of Paris t which day 
was full dark of mist and hail, and so bitter cold, that many men died on their horses 
backs with the cold.' — Editor. 

"^ The fife does not mean the instrument, but the person who played on it. So in 
Barnaby Rich's Aphorisms at the end of his Irish Hubbub, 161 8 'A fife is awry-neckt 
musician, for he always looks away from his instrument.' — Boswell. 



40 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say I will come. 

Laiin. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for 
all this } 

There will come a Christian by, 

Will be worth a Jewes eye.^ \Exit. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha ? 

yes. His words were, ' Farewell, mistress j' nothing else. 

Shy. The patch * is kind enough, but a huge feeder ; 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat : drones hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in : 
Perhaps I will return immediately : 
Do as I bid you ; shut doors after you : 
Fast bind, fast find. 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. \_Exit. 

yes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. \_Exit. 

Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqucd. 

Gra. This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo 
Desired us to make stand. 

Salar. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! * 

Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast 
With that keen appetite that he sits down ? 

' The term Jew was anciently applied to Hebrews of both sexes. The old Saxon gen- 
itive form is here used for the sake of rhythm. White says, this 13 an allusion to the 
'enormous sums extorted by the Front-de-bceiifs of old from Jews, as ransom for theii 
eyes.' — Euitok. 



SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 41 

Where is the horse that doth untread again 

His tedious measures with the unbated fire 

That he did pace them first ? Ail things that are, 

Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 

How like a younker or a prodigal 

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 

Hugg'd and embraced. by the strumpet wind ! 

How like the prodigal doth she return, 

With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, 

Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo : more of this hereafter. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode ; 
Not I, but my aff^airs, have made you wait : 
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
I 'II watch as long for you then. Approach 5 
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho ! who 's within ? 

Erder Jessica, to ths window^ in bofs clothes. 

Jes. Who are you ? Tell me, for more certainty, 
Albeit I '11 swear that I do know your tongue. 

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

yes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed. 
For who love I so much ? ' And now who knows 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? 

Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. 

Jes. Here, catch this casket j it is Vv'orth the pains. 
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
For I am much ashamed of my exchange : 
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit ; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see m.e thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 



42 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

yes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ? 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
And I should be obscured. 

Lor. So are you, sweet, 

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
But come at once ; 

For the close night doth play the runaway 
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 

"Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 

^Exit^ from the window. 

Gra. Now, by my hood,^ a Gentile, and no Jew.' 

Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily ; 
For she*is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
And true she is, as she hath proved herself; 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica. 

What, art thou come ? On, gentlemen ; away ! 

Our masquing mates by this time for us stay, \^Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Behnont. A room in Portia's house. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco and his train ; 
Portia, Nerissa, and others attending. 

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion. 
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred. 

^' By my hood' — by my self, r. «., by my estate — manhood, kinghood, knighthood, 
or whatever the hood or estate of the protester might be. 

'■^ A jest arising from the ambiguity of ' Gsntile,' which signifies both a heathen and 
one well born. 



SCENE IV.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 43 

Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 

Where Phcebus' lire scarce thaws the icicles, 

And let us make incision for your love, 

To prove whose blood is reddest,' his or mine. 

I tell thee, lady, this aspecSl of mine 

Hath fear'd the valiant : by my love, I swear 

The best-regarded virgins of our clime 

Have loved it too : I would not change this hue, 

Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes j 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
But if my father had not scanted me 
And hedged me by his wit,* to yield myself 
His wife who wins me by that means I told you. 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 
As any comer I have look'd on yet 
For my afFecStion. 

Mor. Even for that I thank you : 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar 
That slew the Sophy ^ and a Persian prince 
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, 
I would outstare the sternest eyes that look. 
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth. 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, 
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey. 
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while I 
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice 
Which is the better man, the greater throw 

' Red blood was of old considered a mark both of high birth and coaraje. 

^ 'Sophy' is striftly neither a title nor a name. The emperors or shahs of Persia of 
one dynasty were called Sophy, or more properly ' Sufi,' as the emperors of Rome were 
called * Cass: rs. —White. 



44 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 

So is Alcides beaten by his page ; , ^ 

And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 

Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 

And die with grieving. 

Por. You must take your chance ; 

And either not attempt to choose at all. 
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong, 
Never to speak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage : therefore be advised.* 

Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. 

Por. First, forward to the temple : after dinner 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then ! 

To make me blest or cursed'st among men. 

\_Corfjets^ and exeunt. 

Scene V. The same. Another room. 

Flourish of cornets. Portia and Nerissa, with the Prince 
OF Morocco, and their attendants^ discovered. 

Por. Go draw aside the curtains, and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince. 
Now make your choice, 

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 
' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire ;' 
The second, silver, which this promise carries, 
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves ;' 
The third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, 
' Who chooseth rne must give and hazard all he hath.' 
How shall I know if I do choose the right ? 

Por, The one of them contains my picture, prince : 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 

Mor. Some god direct my judgement ! Let me see ; 
I vvill survey the inscription back again. 



SCENE v.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 45 

What says this leaden casket ? 

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' 

Must give, — for what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ? 

This casket threatens. Men that hazard all 

Do it in hope of fair advantages : 

A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 

I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 

What says the silver with her virgin hue ? 

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' 

As much as he deserves ! Pause there, Morocco, 

And weigh thy value with an even hand : 

If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 

Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 

May not extend so far as to the lady. 

What if I stray'd no further, but chose here ? 

Let's see once more this saying graved in gold ; 

' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' 

Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her ; 

From the four corners of the earth they come. 

To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint : 

The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds 

Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now 

For princes to come view fair Portia : 

The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 

Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 

To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come. 

As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 

One of these three contains her heavenly pidiure. 

Never so rich a gem was set in worse than gold ! 

Deliver me the key : 

Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 

Por. There, take it, prince ; and if my form lie there. 
Then I am yours. \^He unlocks the golden casket 

Mor. O hell \ what have we here ? 

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 



46 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

There is a written scroll ! I '11 read the writing. 
[Reads.'] ' All that glisters is not gold ; 

Often have you heard that told : 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgement old, 
Your answer had not been inscroll'd : 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold.' 
Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : 
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost ! 
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart 
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. 

[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets. 
For. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. 
Let all of his complexion choose me so. 

Enter Balthasar. 

Bal. Where is my lady ? 

Po^' Here : what would my lord ? 

Bal. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify the approaching of his lord ; 
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,* 
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 
So likely an embassador of love : 
A day in April never came so sweet, 
To show how costly summer was at hand. 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 

For. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard 
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, 
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him. 
Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 



SCENE VI.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 47 

Ouick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 

Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be ! [^Exeunt. 



Scene VI. Venice, A street. 

Enter Salarino and Salanio. 

Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail : 
With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke, 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : 
But there the Duke was given to understand 
That in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
Besides, Antonio certified the Duke 
They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 

Salan, I never heard a passion so confused. 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
' My daughter! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian ! O my Christian ducats ! 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 
Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter !' 

Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him. 
Crying, his daughter, and his ducats. 

Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this. 

Salar. Marry, well remember'd. 

I reason'd * with a Frenchman yesterday. 
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country richly fraught :* 
I thought upon Antonio when he told me ; 



48 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear ; 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
Bassanio told him he would make some speed 
Of his return : he answer'd, 'Do not so ; 
Slubber* not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very riping of the time ; 
And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me. 
Let it not enter in your mind -of love : 
Be merry ; and employ your chiefest thoughts 
To courtship, and such fair ostents* of love 
As shall conveniently become you there :' 
And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 
And, with afFe£lion wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand ; and so they parted. 

Salan. I think he onlv loves the world for him. 
I pray thee, let us go and find him out. 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. \Exeunt. 

Scene VII. The same. Another street. 

Enter Salanio and Salarino, 

Salan. Nov/, what news on the Rialto ? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked, that Antonio hath a, 
ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I 
think they call the place ; a very dangerous flat and fatal, where 
the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip 
Report be ah honest woman of her word. 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever 
knapped* ginger, or made her neighbours believe she wept for the 



SCENE VII.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 49 

death of a third husband. But it is true, without any slips of 
prolixity, or crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good 

Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough 

to keep his name company .! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha ! what sayest thou ? Why, the end is, he hath lost a 
ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. 

Salan. Let me say ' amen ' betimes, lest the devil cross my 
prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. 

Enter Shylock. 

How now, Shylock ! what news among the merchants ? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my 
daughter's flight. 

Salar. That 's certain : I, for my part, knew the tailor that 
made the wings she flew withal. 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was 
fledged ; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the 
dam. 

Shy. She is damned for it. 

Salar. That 's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 

Salar. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any 
loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a prodigal, 
who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto ; a beggar, that used 
to come so smug upon the mart ; let him look to his bond : he was 
wont to call me usurer ; let him look to his bond : he was wont to 
lend money for a Christian courtesy ; let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh : 
what 's that good for ? 

Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing else, it will 
feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me 
half a million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, 
3 



50 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act ii. 

scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, 
heated mine enemies ; and what's his reason ? I am a Jew. Hath 
not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, 
aiFe£i:ions, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with the same 
weapons, subje£l to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Chris- 
tian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? if you tickle us, do 
we not laugh ? if you poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong 
us, shall we not revenge ? if we are like you in the rest, we will 
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his 
humility ? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should 
his sufferance be by Christian example ? Why, revenge. The 
villany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard but I 
will better the instruftion. 

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe : a third cannot be 
matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. 

\_Exeunt Salanio and Salarino. 

Enter Tubal. 

Shy. How now. Tubal ! what news from Genoa ?. hast thou 
found my daughter ? 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. 

Shy. Why, there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost me 
two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never fell upon our 
nation till now ; I never felt it till now : two thousand ducats in 
that ; and other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter 
were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear ! would she were 
hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! No news of 
them ? Why, so : — and I know not what 's spent In the search : 
why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so much, and so 
much to find the thief; and no satisfadion, no revenge : nor no 
ill luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders ; no sighs but of 
my breathing; no tears but of my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too : Antonio, as I heard in 
Gei )a, — 



\ 



SCENE VII.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 51 

6'/;';'. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 

Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. 

Shy. I thank God, I thaiik God ! Is't true ? is't true ? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : good news, good news ! ha, 
ha ! where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, a I heard, in one night 
fourscore ducats. 

Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me : I shall never see my gold 
again : fourscore ducats at a sitting ! fourscore ducats. 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company 
to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him 5 I'll torture him : 
I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had of your 
daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : it was my tur- 
quoise ;' I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor : I would not 
have given it for a v/ilderness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, Tubal, fee me an 
ofUcer ; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart 
of him, if he forfeit ; for, were he out of Venice, I can make 
what merchandise I will. Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our 
synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our synagogue. Tubal. [^Exeunt. 

1 The turquoise is, in itself, a jewel of no very great value. Shylock treasured it as a 
maiden gift from his dead wife, Leah. Steevens mentions many superstitious qualities 
imputed to this stone. — Editor. 



52 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act hi. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Belmont, ji room in Portia's house. 

Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and Attendants, dis- 
covered. 

Par. I pray you, tarry : pause a day or two. 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company : therefore forbear awhile. 

Bass. Let me choose ; 
For as I am, I live upon the rack. 

Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ! then confers 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
There may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

Por. Away then ! I am lock'd in one of them : 
If you do love me, you will find me out. 
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. 
Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
Fading in music :' that the comparison 
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, 
And watery death-bed for him. Now he goes. 
With no less presence,* but with much more love, 
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice ; 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 

' Alluding to the opinion which long prevailed, that the swan uttered a plaintive 
musical sound at the approach of death. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 53 

With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
Live thou, I live : with much much more dismay 
I view the fight, than thou that makest the fray.' 

\_Music^ whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself 

Bass. So may the outward shows be least themselves : ^ 
The world is still deceived with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being seasoned with a gracious* voice. 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion. 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it with a text. 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 
There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts : 
Thus ornament is but the guiled * shore 
To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word. 
The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee ; 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 
Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught, 
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ; 
And here choose I : joy be the consequence ! 

Par. [^Jsidel How all the other passions fleet to air, 

' Laomedon, the founder of Troy, hired Neptune to build the walls, and Apollo, mean- 
time, to keep his flocks on Mount Ida. The gods having finished their tasks, Laomedon 
refuses their wages. Neptune, enraged, sends a sea-monster to ravage the country about 
Troy. The Trojans, by command of an oracle, sacrifice from time to time a maiden to 
the monster, to appease him and his offended master. Among others, Hesione, daughter 
of Laomedon, is selected by lot for this purpose. But at this time Hercules, or Alcides 
(the patronymic), returning firom his expedition against the Amazons, slays the monster 
and rescues the maiden. Such is the myth to which ths poet alludes. — Editor. 

^ Bassanio has made up his mind while the music has proceeded, and then follows out 
the course of his thoughts in words. 



54. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act hi. 

As doubtful thoughts,~and rash-embraced despair, 
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy ! 

love, be moderate ; allay thy ecstasy ; » 
In measure rain thy joy ; scant this excess ! 

1 feel too much thy blessing : make it less, 
For fear I surfeit ! 

Bass. What find I here ? \_Open'mg the leaden casket. 

Fair Portia's counterfeit !* Here's the scroll. 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 
\_Reads.'] * You that choose not by the view, 

Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 

Since this fortune falls to you, 

Be content and seek no new. 

If you be well pleased with this, 

And hold your fortune for your bliss. 

Turn you where your lady is. 

And claim her with a loving kiss.' 
A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave ; 
I come by note, to give and to receive. 
Like one of two contending in a prize. 
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes. 
Hearing applause and universal shout, 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 
Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 
So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so ; 
As doubtful whether what I see be true. 
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 

Por. You see me. Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
Such as I am': though for myself alone 
I would not be ambitious in my wish. 
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you 
I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
More rich ; 
That only to stand high iji your account, 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 55 

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account. But now I was the lord 
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now. 
This house, these servants, and this same myself, 
Are yours, my lord : I give them with this ring ; 
Which when you part from, lose, or give away. 
Let it presage the ruin of your love. 
And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins ; 
But when this ring 

Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : 
O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead ! 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, 
To cry, good joy : good joy, my lord and lady ! 

Gra. My Lord Bassanio and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
For I am sure you can wish none from me : 
And when your honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, •! beheld the maid \^ 
You loved, I loved for intermission. 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the casket there, 

^ Nerissa was no servant-maid, according to modern notions, but an attendant friend, 
as well born and bred, perhaps, though not as wealthy, as Portia herself. Such a relation 
was common of old. It existed between Gratiano and Bassanio, whose intercourse is 
that of equals, and the former of whom is evidently a gentleman in every sense of the 
word. Bassanio says to him and Nerissa, * Our feast shall be much honour'' d in your 
marriage.' — -White. 



56 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act hi. 

And so did mine too, as the matter falls j 

For wooing here until I sweat again, 

And swearing till my very roof was dry * 

With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 

I got a promise of this fair one here 

To have her love, provided that your fortune 

Achieved her mistress. 

Por. Is this true, Nerissa ? 

Ne7\ Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 

Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage. 

Gra. But who comes here ? Lorenzo and his infidel ? 
What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio ? 

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio, a Messenger from Venice, 

Bass, Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
If that the youth of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, 
I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 

Por. So do I, my lord : 

They are entirely welcome. 

Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord, 
My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
But meeting with Salerio by the way. 
He did entreat me, past all saying nay, 
To come with him along. 

Saler. I did, my lord. 

And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
Commends him to you. \_Gives Bassanio a letter, 

Bass. Ere I ope his letter, 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 

Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be In mind j 
Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 57 

Will show you his estate. 

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her welcome. 
Your hand, Saletio : what's the news from Venice ? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? 
I know, he will be glad of our success ; 
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 

Saler. I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost. 

Por. There are some shrewd* contents in yon same paper, 
That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek : 
Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ! 
With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, 
And I must freely have the half of any thing 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady. 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
My state was nothing, I should then have told you 
That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, 
I have engaged myself to a dear friend, 
Engaged my friend to his mere enemy. 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady j 
The paper as the body of my friend. 
And every word in it a gaping wound, 
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio ? 
Have all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit ? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India ? 



58 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, [act tii. 

And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks ? 

Saler. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it. Never did I know - 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
He plies the Duke at morning and at night ; 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, 
The Duke himself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 

Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble ? 

Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

Por. What sum owes he the Jew ? 

Bass. For me three thousand ducats. 

Por. What, no more ? 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
First go with me to church and call me wife, 
And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty debt twenty times over : 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along. 
My maid Nerissa and myself meantime 
Will live as maids and widow -■- Come, awav ' 



SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 59 

For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer : 
Since you are dear bought, I will ove you dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass, \_Reads~\ ' Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, 
my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the 
Jew is forfeit ; and since in paying it, it is impossible I should 
live, all debts are cleared between you and I,- if I might but see 
you at my death. ^ Notwithstanding, use your pleasure: if your 
love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.' 

Por. O love, despatch all business, and be gone ! 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
I will make haste: but, till I come again. 

No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay. 

No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. \_Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. A garden. 

Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 

Laun. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father are to 
be laid upon the children : therefore, I promise ye, I fear you. I 
was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of 
the matter : therefore be of good cheer ; for, truly, I think 
you are damned. There is but one hope in it that can do any 
good ; and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? 

^ Mr. Charles Kemble, as stated by Harness, objedls to the common puniftuation of 
this passage. He would have a period after * you and I,' and make the following clause, 
' if I might but see you at my death,' an independent sentence. The reason given for 
the proposed change is, that the present pun6tuation implies a want of generosity on 
Antonio's part, in seeming to make his seeing Bassanio a condition of his forgiving him 
his debt. The passage, however, 'If I might but see you,' &c., does not appear to be 
added as a positive condition of pardon, but as an after-thought, in a vein of mourni'ul 
pleasantry and graceful compliment. If this passage were made an independent sentence, 
expressive of an earnest wish to see Bassanio, it might be taken as a covert way of stim- 
ulating Bassanio to the payment of the debt, and thus the exquisite tenderness and dig- 
nity of ths whole letter would be much impaired. — Editor. 



6o THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, [act hi. 

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that you are not the Jew's 
daughter. . 

"Jes. So the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and 
mother : thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charyb- 
dis,^ your mother : well, you are gone both ways. 

'Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath made me a 
Christian. 

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we were Christians 
enough before ; e'en as many as could well live, one by another. 
This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs : if we 
grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on 
the coals for monev. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

'Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he 
comes. 

Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if you 
thus get my wife into corners. 

"Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo : Launcelot and I are 
out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy for me in heaven, 
because I am a Jew's daughter : and he says, you are no good 
member of the commonwealth ; for, in converting Jews to Chris- 
tians, you raise the price of pork. 

Lor. I shall answer that to the commonwealth. Go in, sirrah ; 
bid them prepare for dinner. 

Laun. That is done, sir ; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then bid them 
prepare dinner. 

Laun. That is done too, sir ; only 'cover'* is the word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir ? 

Laun. Not so, sir, neither j I know my duty. 

' * Scylla ' — ' Charybdis.' It is hardly necessary to say that these names were applied 
by the ancients to the rocky shores of the strait that separates Sicily from Italy, the pas- 
gage of which was greatly dreaded by mariners. — Editor. 



SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 6i 

w 

Lo7\ Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt thou show 
the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray thee, under- 
stand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows ; bid 
them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to ' 
dinner. 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; for the meat, 
sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming to dinner, sir, why, let 
it be as humours and conceits shall govern. [^Exit. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica ? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion. 
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife ? 

fes. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
And if on earth he do not mean it, then 
In reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match 
And on the wager lay two earthly women. 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor rude world 
•Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 

yes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 

Lor. I will anon : first, let us go to dinner. 

yes. Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ; 
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
I shall digest it. 



62 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act hi. 

yes. Well, I'll set you forth. \_Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. A room m Portia' s house. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and Balthasar. 

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like amity j which appears most strongly 
In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
But if you knew to whom you show this honoui", 
How true a gentleman you send relief. 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know you would be prouder of the work 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

Por. I never did repent for doing good. 
Nor shall not now. 

This comes too near the praising of myself; 
Therefore no more of it : hear other things. 
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
The husbandry "^^ and manage of my house 
Until my lord's return^: for mine own part, 
I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow 
To live in prayer and contemplation. 
Only attended by Nerissa here. 
Until her husband and my lord's return : 
There is a monastery two miles oiF; 
And there we will abide. I do desire you 
Not to deny this imposition ; 
The which my love and some necessity 
Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart ; 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 

Por. My people do already know my mind, 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 



SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 63 

In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. 
And so farewell, till we shall meet again. 

Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you ! 

yes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content, 

Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased 
To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 

\_Exeu7it yessica and Loren-zo. 
Now, Balthasar, 

As I have ever found thee honest-true. 
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man 
In speed to Padua : see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand. Doctor Bellario ; 
And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, 
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed 
Unto the traneit,* to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, 
But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee. 

Balth. Madamj I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. 

Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand 
That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they see us ? 

Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a^ habit, 
That they shall think we are accomplished 
With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, 
When we are both accoutred like young men, 
I '11 prove the prettier fellow of the two. 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace. 
And speak between the change of man and boy 
With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays 
Like a fine bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies, 
How honourable ladies sought my love. 
Which I denying, they fell sick and died j 



64 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act iv. 



I could not do withal : ' then I '11 repent, 

And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them ; 

And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 

That men shall swear I have discontinued school 

Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 

A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 

Which I will pra6lise. 

Ner. Why, shall we turn to men ? 

Por. Fie, what a question 's that. 
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ! 
But come : I'll tell thee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park-gate ; and therefore haste away, 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day 



\^Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. Venice. A court of justice. 

The Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, 
Salarino, Salanio, Salerio, and others discovered. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 

Ant. Ready, so please your Grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee : thou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 

Ant. I have heard 

Your Grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's* reach, I do oppose 

' That is, I could not help it. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, 65 

My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 

To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 

The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court, 
Saler. He is ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 
Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face. 

Enter Shylock. 

Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too. 

That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 

To the last hour of a6i: ; and then 'tis thought 

Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse * more strange 

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; 

And where thou now exait'st the penalty. 

Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh. 

Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture. 

But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 

Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses. 

That have of late so huddled on his back. 

Enough to press a royal merchant down, 

And pluck commiseration of his state 

From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint. 

From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd 

To offices of tender courtesy. 

We all expe6l a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have possess'd your Grace of what I purpose ; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
You '11 ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion-flesh than to receive 
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
But, say, it is my humour : is it answer'd ? 



66 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act iv. 

What if my house be troubled with a rat, 

And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 

To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ? 

Some men there are love not a gaping pig ;^ 

Some, that are mad if they behold a cat. 

Now, for your answer : 

As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 

Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 

Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 

So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 

More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answers. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing h'e would not kill ? 

Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice ? 

Jnt. I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 
You may as well go stand upon the beach. 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf, . 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise. 
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do any thing most hard, 
As seek to soften that — -than which what's harder ? — 
His Jewish heart : therefore, I do beseech you, ., 

Make no more offers, use no farther means', 
But with all brief and plain conveniency 

' By a 'gaping pig,' Shakespeare, I believe, meant a pig prepaied for the table. So in 
Fletcher's Elder Brother- 'And they st-ani. gaping like a roasted pig.' — Malone. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 67 

Let me have judgement and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none ? 

Shy. What judgement shall I dread, doing no wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchased slave, 
Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, 
You use in abje6l and in slavish parts. 
Because you bought them : shall I say to you. 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 
Why sweat they under burthens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer 
' The slaves are ours :' so do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
Is dearly bought ; 'tis mine and I will have it. 
If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
I stand for judgement : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Duke. Upon my pov/er I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned do£lor. 
Whom I have sent for to determine this. 
Come here to-day. 

Saler, My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the do£lor. 
New come from Padua. ^ 

Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

\Exit an Attendant. 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man, courage yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all. 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

' Padua is the place of education for the civil law in Italy. 



68 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act iv. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me : 
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 

Re-enter Attendant, with Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer'' s clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 

Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace. 

\_Presenting a letter. 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou makest thy knife keen ; ^ but no metal can. 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 

Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accused. 
Thou almost makest me waver in my faith, 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hanged for human slaughter, 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam. 
Infused itself in thee ; for thy desires 
Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
Thou but ofFend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 

* The conceit is that Shylock's soul was so hard that it had given an edge to his knife. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 69 

• 

A young and learned do6lor to our court. 
Where is he ? 

Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 

To know your answer, whether you 'U admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart. Some three or four of you 
Go give him courteous condu6t to this place. 

\_Exeunt Salarino^ Salanio^ and Salerio. 
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

Clerk. \Read{\ 'Your Grace shall understand that at the 
receipt of your letter I am very sick : but in the instant that your 
messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young dodtor 
of Rome ; his name is Balthasar. I acquainted him with the 
cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio the merchant : 
we turned o'er many books together : he is furnished with my 
opinion ; which, bettered with his own learning, — the greatness 
whereof I cannot enough commend, — comes with him, at my im- 
portunity, to fill up your Grace's request in my stead. I beseech 
you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a 
reverend estimation ; for I never knew so young a body with so 
old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial 
shall better publish his commendation.' 

Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes : 
And here, I take it, is the do6lor come. 

Re-enter Salarino, Salanio, and Salerio, with Portia, 
dressed like a doSior of- laws. 

Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario ? 

Par. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

For. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

For. Is your name Shylock ? 



70 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act iv. 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow \ 
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn * you as you do proceed. 
You stand within his danger,* do you not ? 

Jnt. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond ? 

Jnt. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd, 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God^s 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this. 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 71 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth.* And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong. 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 
And many an error, by the same example. 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgement ! yea, a Daniel ! ' 

O wise young judge, how I do honour thee ! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend do6lor, here it is. 

Por. Shy lock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit j 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut ofF 
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful : 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond ; 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
Proceed to judgement : by my soul I swear 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 



72 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act iv. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgement. 

For. Why then, thus it is : 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

For. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

For. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast : 

So says the bond : — doth it not, noble judge ? — 
' Nearest his heart :' those are the very words. 

For. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. I have them ready. 

For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond .? 

For. It is not so express'd : but what of that ? 
*Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

For. You, merchant, have yoj any thing to say ? 

Ant. But little : I am arm'd and well prepared. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio : fare you well ! 
Grieve not that 1 am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth. 
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
An age of poverty ; from which Hngering penance 
Of such misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honourable wife : 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end j 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 73 

Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent but you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it presently with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world. 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love : 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter ; 
Would any of the stock of Barrabas 
Had been her husband rather than a Christian ! 
We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine : 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful judge ! 

Por. And you must cut this flesh from ofF his breast : 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge ! A sentence ! Come, prepare ! 

Por. Tarry a little ; there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are ' a pound of flesh :' 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge ! Mark, Jew : O learned judge ! 
4 



74 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act iv, 

Shy. Is that the law ? 

Por. Thyself shall see the adt : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest, 

Gra. O learned judge ! Mark, Jew : a learned judge ! 

Shy. I take this offer, then ; pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

Por. Soft! 
The Jew shall have all justice j soft ! no haste : 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut ofFthe flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less nor more 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou cut'st more 
Or less than a just pound, be it but so much 
As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair. 
Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. 

Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture. 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

Por. He hath refused it in the open court : 
He shall have merely justice and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy, Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture. 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy, Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
I'll stay no longer question. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 75 

Por. Tarry, Jew : 

The law hath yet another hold on you» 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien 
That by dire6l or indire6l attempts 
He seek the life of any citizen. 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy cofFer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st ; 
For it appears, by manifest proceeding. 
That indire61:ly, and direfliy too. 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehearsed. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord j 
Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's; charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 
The other half comes to the general state. 
Which humbleness may drive into a fine. 

Por. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.' 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life. 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio.^ 

1 That is, the State's moietjrmay be commuted to a fine, but not Antomo'a. 



76 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, [act iv. 

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else, for God's sake. 

Jnt. So please my lord the Duke and all the court 
To quit the fine' for one half of his goods, 
I am content ; so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter : 
Two things provided more, that, for this favour, 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd. 
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 

Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

Por. Art thou contented, Jew ? what dost thou say ? 

Shy. I am content. 

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence j 
I am not well : send the deed after mc. 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening shalt thou have two godfathers : 
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. \_Exit Shylock. 

Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

Por. I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon : 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 

' Antonio does not mean that he is content to release Shylock from the decree of tlie 
state with regard to one half of his goods, — which would be an impertinence not akin 
to Antonio's character, — but to leave (quit) the fine to the mercy of the state, while he 
on his side shows mercy by not claiming the fee-simple of the other half, but only its 
use, — that is, the produfl: derivable from it, — till the Jew's death, rendering it then to 
his son-in-law and heir, Lorenzo. — Editor. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 77 

For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[^Exeunt Duke and his train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof. 
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We fi'eely cope * your courteous pains withal. 

Jnt. And stand indebted, over and above, 
In love and service to you evermore. 

Par. He is well paid that is well satisfied ; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied 
And therein do account myself well paid. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further : 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute. 
Not as a fee. 

Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
Give rr\e your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake ; [To Ant. 

And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you : \Tq Bass. 

Do not draw back your hand ; I '11 take no more ; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle \ 
I will not shame myself to give you this. 

Por. I will have nothing else but only this. 

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; 
And when she put it on, she made me vow 
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it. 

Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. 
And if your wife be not a mad-woman, 
And know how well I have deserved this ring. 
She would not hold out enemy for ever, 
For giving it to me. Well, peace with you ! 

[Portia and Nerissa stand apart. 

Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring : 
Let his deservings and my love withal 
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 



78 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act v; 

Bass. Go, Gratiano, 
Give him the ring ; and bring him, if thou canst, 
Unto Antonio's house. Come, Antonio. 

[_Exeunt Antonio and Bassanio. 

Gra. Fair sir. 
My Lord Bassanio upon more advice* 
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

Par. That cannot be : 

His ring I do accept most thankfully : 
And so, I pray you, tell him : furthermore, 
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. 

Gra. That vi^ill I do. 

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you. 

I '11 see if I can get my husband's ring, \_Jside to Portia. 

Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 

Par. \_Aside to Ner.'\ Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall have 
old swearing. 
That they did give the rings away to men ; 
But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. 
[A/oud] Away ! make haste : thou know'st where I will tarry. 

Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house ? [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



Scene I. Belmont. Avenue to Portia's house. 

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright : in such a night as this, 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
And they did make no noise, in such a night 
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls, 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 79 

And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

yes. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew, 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself. 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such anight 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

O CD 

yes. In such a night 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old ^Eson. 

Lor. In such a night 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
As far as Belmont. 

yes. In such a night 

Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. ' In such a night 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

yes. I would out-night you, did no body come ; 
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Stephano. 

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ? 

Steph. A friend. 

Lor. A friend ! what friend ? your name, I pray you, friend ? 

Steph. Stephano is my name ; and I bring word 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont. 

Lor. Who comes with her ? 



8o THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act v. 

Steph. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd ? 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Laun. [TVithin.'] Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! 

Lor. Who calls ? 

Enter Launcelot. 

Laun. Sola ! did you see Master Lorenzo ? Master Lorenzo, 
sola, sola ! 

Lor. Leave hollaing, man : here. 

Laun. Sola ! where ? where ? 

Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him there 's a post come from my master, with his 
horn full of good news : my master will be here ere morning. 

[_Exlt. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. 
And yet no matter : why should we go in ? 
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you. 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand j 

And bring your music forth into the air. [^Exit Stephana. 

Hov/ sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines* of bright gold : 
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring* to the young-eyed cherubims ; 
Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 8i 



Enter . Musicians. 

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ! 

With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 

And draw her home with music. \_Munc. 

yes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive : 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 
Or any air of music touch their ears. 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
By the sweet power of music : therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; 
Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage. 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night. 
And his afFeftions dark as Erebus : 
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. 

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
A substitute shines brightly as a king, 
Until a king be by ; and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 

4:* 



82 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act v. 

Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 

For. Nothing is good, I see, without respe6t:' 
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
When neither is attended ; and I think 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise and true perfe6lion ! 
Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
And would not be awaked. \_Music ceases. 

Lor. ' That is the voice, 

Or I am much deceived, of Portia. 

Por. He knows me as the bUnd man knows the cuckoo. 
By the bad voice. 

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

Por. We have been praying for our husbands' healths, 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
Are they return'd ? 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before. 
To signify their coming. 

Por. Go in, Nerissa ; 

Give order to my servants that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
Nor you, Lorenzo ; Jessica, nor you. \_A tii:ket sounds. 

Lor. Your husband is at hand ; I hear his trumpet : 
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear, you not. 

Por. This night methinks is but the daylight sick ; 
It looks a little paler : 'tis a day, 

' That is, except by comparison. We still say that one thing is good ©r bsd in re- 
sped to another. 



SCENE I.J THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 83 

Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their followers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

Por. Let me give light, but let me nor be light ; 
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
And never be Bassanio so for me. 
You are welcome home, my lord. 

Bass. I thank you, madam. Give v^elcome to my friend. 
This is the man, this is Antonio, 
To whom I am so infinitely bound. 

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Jnt. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
It must appear in other ways than words. 
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 

Gra. \_To Nerissa'\ By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong; 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
Would he were hang'd that had it, for my part, 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 

Por. A quarrel, ho, already ! what's the matter ? 

Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me, whose posy was 
P'or all the world like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife, ' Love me, and leave me not.' 

Ner. What talk you of the posy or the value ? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you. 
That you would wear it till your hour of death. 
And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, 
You should have been respedlive,'^ and have kept it. 
Gave it a judge's clerk ! no, heaven's my judge. 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it. 



84 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act v. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed * boy. 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk, 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee : 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger 
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
You gave your wife too unkind a cause of grief : 
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it, 

Bass. \_Aside\ Why, I were best to cut my left hand off\, 
And swear I lost the ring defending it. 

Gra. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed 
Deserved it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine ; 
And neither man nor master would take aught 
But the two rings. 

Por. What ring gave you, my lord ? 

Not that, I hope, which you received of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your sight 
Until I see the ring. 
• Ner. Nor I jn yours 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 85 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring. 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring. 
And would conceive for what I gave the ring. 
And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
When naught would be accepted but the ring, 
You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring. 
Or your own honour to contain* the ring. 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable. 
If you had pleased to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe : 
I '11 die for't but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, 
No woman had it, but a civil do£tor,^ 
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me. 
And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him. 
And suffered him to go displeased away j 
Even he that did uphold the very life 
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady ; 
I was enforced to send it after him ; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy ; 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady ; 
For, by these blessed candles of the night. 
Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that dodlor e'er come near my house : 
Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, 

' That is, a doftor of the civil law. 



86 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. [act v. 

And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you. 

Jnt. I am the unhappy subje6l of these quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you ; you are welcome notwithstanding. 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
Wherein I see myself,- — 

Por. Mark you but that ! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 
In each eye, one : swear by your double self, 
And there 's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but hear me : 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ;* 
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring. 
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again. 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. 

Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this. 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 

Por. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio. 

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
P'or that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk. 
Did give me this. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways 
In summer, where the ways are fair enough. 

Por. You are all amazed : 
Here is a letter ; read it at your leisure ; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, 
Nerissa there her clerk : Lorenzo here 



SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 87 

Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, 
And even but now return'd ; I have not yet 
Entcr'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome ; 
And I have better news in store for you 
Than you. expe6l : unseal this letter soon ; 
There you shall find three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly : 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Jnt. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living. 

Bass. Were you the do6lor and I knew you not ? 

Gra. Were you the clerk ? 

Por. How now, Lorenzo ! 

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

Ner. Ay, and I '11 give them him without a fee. 
There do 1 give to you and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

Por. It is almost morning. 

And yet I am sure you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full. Let us go in ; 
And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
And we will answer all things faithfully. [^Exeunt. 



GLOSSARY. 



Advice, consideration, discretion. 
Argosy, originally a vessel of Ragusa or 
Ragosa, a Rogosine ; hence any ship of 
burden. 
Breed, interest. 
Condition, temper, quality. 
Contain, to hold, retain. 
Cofc, to reward, to give in return. 
Counterfeit, a portrait, an image. 
Ccver, to lay the table for dinner. 
Eanling, a yeanling, a lamb. 
En-vie, used sometimes for < malice,' ' hatred.' 
Danger, reach, control, power. 
Fall, to let fall. 
Fill-bone, shaft-horse. 
Fraught, freighted. 
Fulsome, lustful. 

Gear, matter of business of any kind. 

Get, to beget. 

Gracious, pleasing, gentle. 

Gramercy, grant mercy, much thanks. 

Guard, to decorate. 

Guiled, treacherous, deceitful. 

Husbandry, thrift, management. 

Imposition, command. 

Impugn, to oppose. 

Kind, nature. 

Knap, to snap, crack. 

Liberal, licentious, coarse. 



Ostent, show, appearance. 
Patch, a mean fellow. 

Patine, the metal disc on which the breaa 
is placed in the administration of the 
■Eucharist. 
Possess, to inform. 
Presence, high bearing. 
Proper, handsome. 
Prest, ready. 

Squire, to sing in concert. 
Rate, to scold. 

Reason, to converse, discourse. 
Regreet, a salutation. 
Respective, respedful, thoughtful. 
I Remorse, pity. 
Scant, to cut short, to spare. 
Scrubbed, dwarfish, stunted. 
Shrewd, cutting, harrowing. 
Shrive, to confess. 
Slubber, to slur over. 
Sometimes, formerly. 
Sort, lot. 

Squandered, scattered. 
Tranect, a ferry. 

Truth, used sometimes fur ' honesty.' 
Usance, usury. 
Failing, lowering. 
fVealtb, weal, advantage. 
ff^it, knowledge, wisdom. 



mxi Woxu (if (^\tMU^ §uUm, 

GLOBE EDITION. 

The Cheapest Legible Edition ever Published. 

Printed in large type, on fine paper, and containing all the illustrations of Darley 
and Gilbert, complete in 13 vols., lamo. 



1. Nicholas Nickleby. 

2. Old Curiosity Shop, and Part I. 

Sketches. 

3. Barnaby Rudge, and Part II. 

Sketches. 

4. Martin Chuzzlewit. 

5. Dombey and Son. 

6. Oliver Twist, and Great Expec- 

tations. 



7. David Copperfield. 

8. Tale of Two Cities, and Hard Times. 

9. Bleak House. 

10. Little Dorrit. 

11. Christmas Stories, American Notes, 

and Pictures from Italy. 

12. Our Mutual Friend. 

13. Pickwick Papers. 



Price, in cloth, per volume $ i 50 

The set, green crape cloth 19 50 

" " half calf, extra 30 00 



RIVERSIDE EDITION. 



Printed on fine paper, and containing all the illustrations that have appeared in 
the English edition, by Cruikshank, Phiz, Seymour, John Leach, D. Maclise, 
Marcus Stone, and others, elegantly engraved on steel, to M^hich are added the 
unsurpassed designs of F. O. C. Darley and John Gilbert, now used in the 
Household Edition, making this at once the most complete and elegant edition 
ever offered to the public in America or England. Complete in twenty-six 
volumes, crown 8vo. 



Oliver Twist i vol. 

Nicholas Nickleby 2 vols. 

Martin Chuzzlewit 2 vols. 

Christmas Stories I vol. 

Old Curiosity Shop, and Part I. 

Sketches 2 vols. 

Barnaby Rudge, and Part II. 

Sketches 2 vols. 

Dombey and Son 2 vols. 

David Copperfield 2 vols. 

Price, in cloth, $2.50 per volume. 



Tale of Two Cities i vol. 

Bleak House 2 vols. 

Hard Times i vol. 

Little Dorrit 2 vols. 

American Notes and Pictures from 

Italy I vol. 

Great Expectations i vol. 

Our Mutual Friend 2 vols. 

Pickwick Papers 2 vols 



In half calf, extra, $4.00. 



HOUSEHOLD EDITION. 

Printed on toned paper, and illustrated from drawings by F. O. C. Darley and 
John Gilbert. Complete in fifty-three volumes. 

Prices. — Green vellum cloth, cut or uncut, per volume $ I 25 

The set, crape cloth, fifty- three volumes 66 25 

The set, half calf, gilt, or half morocco 132 50 

HURD AND HOUGHTON, Publishers, 

459 BROOME STREET, New York. 



THE TRAGEDIAN; 

An Essay on the Histrionic Genius of Junius Brutus Booth. By Thomas R. 
Gould. With a photograph from Mr. Gould's bust of Booth. In one vol- 
ume, i6mo. Price, $1.75. 

REMINISCENCES OF EUROPEAN TRAVEL. 

By Andrew P. Peabody, D. D., LL.D., Preacher to Harvard University, and 
Plummer Professor of Christian Morals. In one volume, i6mo. Price, $1.50. 

BARRY GRAY'S WORKS. 

Humorous and Popular. 4 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, per volume, $1.75. 
Married Life. Matrimonial Infelicities. 

Out of Town. Cakes and Ale. 

THE STANDARD DRAMA. 

The text, as played by Mr Edwin Booth. lamo, paper covers. Price, 30 cents 
each. 

No. I. Richard the Third. No. 5. Romeo and Juliet. 

" 2. Macbeth. " 6. Brutus. 

" 3. Merchant of Venice. " 7. The Lady of Lyons. 

« 4. The Fool's Revenge. " 8. Othello. 

A New Way to Pay Old Debts. Hamlet. 

Much Ado about Nothing. King Lear. 

Richelieu. Ruy Bias. 

The Winter's Tale. The Apostate. 

Don Caesar De Bazan. The Stranger. 

LIBRARY OF CHOICE FICTION. 

Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas, Author of " Dennis 

Donne," etc., etc. With illustrations. 
Beautiful Miss Johnson, and other Stories. With illustrations. 

Sketches of Society and Travel. By an " Amateur Casual," and 

others. With Illustrations. 
Mary Eaglestone's Lover, and other Stories. With illustrations. 
Sketches of Club Life, Hunting, and other Sports. With illustrations. 
8vo size, paper covers. Each^50 cents. 

HURD AND HOUGHTON, Publishers, 
459 Broome Street, New York. 



U^v_ 










♦ ^ O^^o"'-*'^ j,'^.^'«,<^ O^**""*"^ 



'-' ^ ... % *^^ / . . . , "'^.- '^^* •** "■^^ ^^^- -< 

A »*«»*• ^ j^ \Mf^Mf^*' \^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces! 

iV* *j(yv5RAb}'*o '^ ^^ * ^iii^ * '^ ^ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

• ^ wy^ ^ , \f ^ * ^ ^r'n^ ^ 1 «<'<S. Treatment Date: Feb. 2009 

\ ^^K** '^ '^ ''•wf^** ^."^^ '^ PreservationTechnologies 

\5 *<^^,* A <^j. 'o , * * «G A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIOI 

"^ A> , ■^ J^ „, 111 Thomson Park Drive 

*# O -^v- ^'^-t ^ fO ,*'x*y. Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



1 1 t 







iiiilii 



■ ' ,«s;?::>:i:S^:;f|.■^■j;S« 






I ''I I 



;<?:*,£'-; , .;.,.?i 



iiiiilM 




m 



M;i'!:»,il;i:-.:,,!,i;:.|:j;i' 



I I it! 



SiiiilMll 




